


in a week

by TheLittleSongbird



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I swear to god I posted this before 105 aired I did not anticipate the battle to go like that, Major Character Undeath, Minor Spoilers for ep 104, POV Jester Lavorre, Spoilers for ep 105
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25751290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleSongbird/pseuds/TheLittleSongbird
Summary: Jester’s throat is raw, and it tightens at the sound of his name. She doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want the pain to continue to wrack her body and soul. If she had known that insurmountable grief was the cost of falling in love, she wouldn’t have desperately sought it out in the first place.Veth is watching her carefully, the steam from their teacups dissipating as they’re left, forgotten. Jester swallows hard and nods a little. It’s all she has the energy to do anymore. She draws her knees closer to her chest and turns back to the window, watching the storm as it rages outside.The rain falls down her cheeks.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 20
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The 3am brainworm strikes again, and all I can write is angst apparently.
> 
> Hoping to have the rest finished by this weekend, I just wanted to get this first part out before tonight's episode once again negates all headcanons. I'm thinking it will only be about 3-4 chapters, so hopefully, you guys won't have to wait too long. Hope you enjoy!

Rain patters against the window.

A summer squall was churning off the coast of Nicodranas, pushing torrential rain into the coastline and through the city itself. The Nein had only just arrived three days before, the storm at their heels as Vilya transported them to the garden attached to the back of the Lavish Chateau. She had decided to rest with them in the city until the storm passed and she could move on to Tal’Dorei.

Jester stares out her old bedroom window, tracing the journey of a single raindrop as it slid down the pane of glass. She hadn’t spoken since they left Rumblecusp. Since she screamed her throat raw. Since—

They should’ve gone back to Rosohna instead. Had Vilya open a portal straight to the tree atop the Xorhaus. That’s where they would find the books they needed, perhaps even some help from a Dynasty cleric. Or Essek, who Jester was sure would have some time magic up his sleeve. Especially if he knew what it was _for._ Besides, _he_ owed _them_ a favor this time around.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Jester forces herself to turn away from the window as the door creaks open. Veth pushes into the room, her back against the door so she doesn’t drop the tray of tea and sandwiches in hand. There’s two servings on the tray, two teacups. Veth places the tray gingerly on the ottoman at the foot of the four-poster bed.

“I had Ducey make a pot of the Wilkins family. He says it’s supposed to help with headaches and stress and helps you sleep.” Veth smiles at Jester as she pours two cups, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Nothing reaches her eyes anymore it seems, just as vacant as Jester feels. Her voice is more nasal than usual, and there’s a flush around her eyes that has nothing to do with her tattoo and everything to do with the tears she’s been hiding since they arrived in Nicodranas. Veth sets one teacup closer to the edge of the ottoman as she hops onto the bed with her own cup, her feet resting beside the tray of sandwiches. “Jessie? You haven’t eaten all day.”

Jester doesn’t answer, just stares blankly at the silver of the tray. Her body feels heavy as if she could just sink into the floor, disappear from sight. She knows her hair’s ratted and greasy, knows she needs a bath. But she’s too heavy to make her way to the washroom without falling into oblivion.

“Jester.”

She looks up at Veth. There’s tears shining in her eyes and oh gods, she doesn’t want to see that immeasurable sadness reflected back at her.

“You can try again in a few days. It won’t be that long to wait, it really won’t. And we’ll get that idiot Essek to help. He’ll do it for Caleb, you know he will.”

Jester’s throat is raw, and it tightens at the sound of his name. She doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want the pain to continue to wrack her body and soul. If she had known that insurmountable grief was the cost of falling in love, she wouldn’t have desperately sought it out in the first place.

Veth is watching her carefully, the steam from their teacups dissipating as they’re left, forgotten. Jester swallows hard and nods a little. It’s all she has the energy to do anymore. She draws her knees closer to her chest and turns back to the window, watching the storm as it rages outside.

The rain falls down her cheeks.

\---

_They had underestimated Vokodo._

_They had planned and planned as much as they could, but in the end, there was little they could do take the fight to the beast’s lair. Jester and Caduceus had exchanged worried glances to each other when the decision was made – they had spent two of their spell slots each restoring the various memories of the Nein and Vilya, who they couldn’t risk losing to Vokodo’s sway again._

_The Nein had thwarted would-be gods before. They had faced demons and fiends and dragons – even at their worst, they were better than most. And in the days leading up, they planned for every contingency, in case one of them was hypnotized in battle, in case their Banishment spells failed, in case one of their party members died. It would be a hard-fought battle, but there was no way the Mighty Nein wouldn’t come out of it victorious._

_But they hadn’t planned for everything._

_Vokodo could reflect spells._

_It seemed like a fluke at first, when Jester’s Guiding Bolt was jettisoned back in her direction, just barely missing her by a few inches. It was freak chance – Vokodo could mirror spells, but his aim was off – something about the timing of the reflection gave him only a small chance of success in hitting his targets. It was fine, it was something they could work around._

_Jester swung her spiritual lollipop hard against Vokodo’s beak and snickered in glee as viscous blood pooled and drifted up into the surrounding water. She might have been running low on spells, but she could feel that the beast was close – his tentacles dragged through the water sluggishly, trying to keep pace with the cleaving of Yasha’s greatsword and Beau’s fists._

_From the corner of her eye, she watched as Caleb, face bloody but otherwise unharmed, rummaged in his components pouch before pulling out a lodestone. He caught Jester watching and smirked her way, winking in her direction as he dragged silt across the length of his arm, pointing directly at Vokodo. Jester grinned back, blood seeping between her teeth, victorious._

_Jester loved watching Caleb cast magic – they way he could twist his fingers into intricate symbols, his quick tongue chanting incantations like they were a song. Caleb cast magic like it was more natural than breathing. His delicate hands shaping universes and mountains, rivers and forests and a thousand possibilities. It was wild, destructive, beautiful. Jester adored it. And she was excited to watch as Vokodo choked on his own ashen corpse._

_The spell released, cutting through the water like an arrow. Jester’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she watched it target straight for Vokodo’s eye._

_The eye glowed a hideous yellow._

_Silence._

_Then, a sound like a scream passing through water, growing louder as Disintegrate was reflected back in the Nein’s direction. Jester barely had time to scream Caleb’s name in warning before the spell impacted against the wizard’s chest, sending him bowling over._

_It happened slowly. Or perhaps time was simply an illusion. Jester couldn’t be sure, but she knew if they were able to breathe air in this underwater cave, it would have been choked out of her as she watched Caleb turn towards her, horror in his eyes. His hand, still extended from his last cast, the tips of his fingers stained black, slowly began to crumble – as if the fire of his own spells had caused his hands to turn to ash. The dust floated up into the water and dissolved instantly, the decay crawling up the length of Caleb’s arm._

_Jester couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She just watched in stunned silence as pieces of Caleb slowly flicked away. Like a piece of paper caught on fire, curling with ash at the edges as it burns away._

_Caleb’s shock turned to sadness as he looked into Jester’s eyes. She watched, hopeless as his lips curled into a sad smile._

_“Jester—” he whispered._

_And then he was gone._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The tavern of the Chateau was always quiet in the early hours of the day – the very nature of the Chateau’s business precluded patrons from visiting before early evening, save for a very small handful of the Ruby’s regular clientele. As a child, Jester relished in the emptiness during the day. She would often rush downstairs and hide behind the bar with Remedi, who indulged her childish questions of the outside world and snuck her bear claws from the bakery down the street. She would climb onto a table in the middle of the foyer and recreate whichever of her mother’s performances she was lucky to witness from the banisters on the second floor, her voice ringing out across the empty halls. When Jester sang and performed, the silence felt magical, as if the world stood still to bask in her presence._
> 
> _Now, the silence feels oppressive. Lifeless._

The rain didn’t stop for two days, leaving the flagstone paths throughout the city flooded. Jester watched from her perch in the windowsill as Luc splashed in the puddles outside the Lavish Chateau, Yeza and Veth keeping a watchful eye from under the veranda. They were leaving soon, and though the Nein had offered to let Veth stay in Nicodranas with her family with the promise to send for her as soon as a solution was found, Veth adamantly refused. They would need her to help sort through the books in the Xorhaus’s library, find any sentimental components they might need for a resurrection. After all, she knew Caleb better than any of them. She loved him more than any of them ever could. Even Jester.

She turned back the rest of the room, where her haversack was lazily dropped against a bedpost, a selection of new dresses stuffed haphazardly inside. If she was going to bring Caleb back, and she _was_ going to bring Caleb back, she wanted to look her absolute best. It was a silly notion even for Jester, who thrived on silly whims, but she needed something to occupy her mind and time until Caduceus and Vilya could finish their scry in preparation for travel. As long as Jester focused on packing dresses and debating which boots to wear, she didn’t have to think about the dust that stained the edges of her traveling dress. The dust that mixed and swirled in the heated water surrounding Vokodo before seeping into the fibers of her skirt. The dust that used to be—

Jester tosses her haversack over her shoulder before heading out of her room and down the stairs.

The tavern of the Chateau was always quiet in the early hours of the day – the very nature of the Chateau’s business precluded patrons from visiting before early evening, save for a very small handful of the Ruby’s regular clientele. As a child, Jester relished in the emptiness during the day. She would often rush downstairs and hide behind the bar with Remedi, who indulged her childish questions of the outside world and snuck her bear claws from the bakery down the street. She would climb onto a table in the middle of the foyer and recreate whichever of her mother’s performances she was lucky to witness from the banisters on the second floor, her voice ringing out across the empty halls. When Jester sang and performed, the silence felt magical, as if the world stood still to bask in her presence.

Now, the silence feels oppressive. Lifeless.

The room was darkened, whatever natural light filtering through the windows grey from the storm outside. Jester spots Tyral sitting at the bar, a book in hand but muttering quietly with Remedi, who unloads and inspects a crate of wine.

Sitting at one of the café tables against a window is Beau and Yasha, what looks to be a half-empty bottle of Lionett wine between the two of them. Yasha catches sight of Jester first and nudges Beau. Looking up in her direction, Jester catches Beau’s eyes – puffy and bloodshot. Jester isn’t sure anymore if it’s from the crying or the alcohol.

“Hey, Jester.” Beau’s voice is rough with disuse. “How… how are you doing?”

Jester shrugs. “We’re leaving soon, yeah?”

“Caduceus and Vilya’s scry should be done. Fjord’s out in the garden with them. We’re just waiting for Veth to say her goodbyes. Figured we’d finish off this bottle while we wait.” Beau looks down at the bottle on the table, blunt fingernails picking at the label absentmindedly. “We didn’t… we weren’t able to mourn properly the last couple of days. Seemed like a good time as any.”

Jester clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Seems pretty stupid to drink now. We’re not in mourning.”

“Jester—”

“We’re _not_ in mourning, because we’re bringing him back, Beau.” She hopes her voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t betray her worst fears and brings her to tears again. She’s cried enough over the last several days. She’s cried enough for the entirety of the Lucidian Ocean, it feels like.

Yasha reaches out and takes Jester’s hand, gently prying her fingers loose from their white-knuckled grip. “Of course we are, Jester. But that doesn’t mean we still can’t be sad until we do. That’s all Beau was saying.”

Jester clenches her jaw and swallows hard, nodding stiffly. She knows no one in the Nein would judge her for her sadness, least of all Beau and Yasha, but she still doesn’t want to show that weakness. Doesn’t want them to see her as childish for letting her emotions get the best of her. She wants to be strong. She _needs_ to be strong. That’s the only way she’s going to get Caleb back.

Beau sniffs, and she can see her eyes turn glassy as she reaches out and holds Jester’s other hand. “Yeah. We’re getting him back. And then we’re going to kick his ass for leaving us like this.” Jester lets out a laugh, wet with tears. Beau squeezes her hand and lets her own tears fall freely.

“I miss him so much,” Jester whispers into the deafening silence of the Lavish Chateau.

“Me too, Jess. Me too.”

\---

_She screamed._

_Dust floated around her like a cloud as she froze in place, the boiling water around her barely noticeable as the grime swirled and clung to her skirt. In her mind, the only thing repeating over and over was her name – Caleb’s last word._

_And Caleb was gone._

_So she screamed, her knees curling up into her body as she doubled over in pain, her hands grasping at her own horns to anchor herself to some semblance of reality._

_Caleb was_ gone _._

_Hot tears lifted from her eyes and dissipated into the underwater cave as she turned towards Vokodo, bleeding and sluggish, the_ thing _that took their wizard away. The monster that turned Caleb to dust and ashes before her eyes. She blinked through her tears, rage and overwhelming sadness crackling in her heart._

_She screamed, cacophonous and shrill. Her throat was raw and bleeding as she siphoned as much power as the Traveler granted her into her scream, sending a Toll the Dead towards Vokodo and his fat, ugly fucking face. She screamed even after the spell hit, after the necrotic energy pierced into Vokodo, the beasts wailing in his death throes. She screamed after he slumped to the floor of the cave, silt exploding up from the impact and mixing with the boiling water around them. She screamed until she could not scream any more, her lungs wracking for air that would not come, her throat closing up from the strain on her vocal cords, her eyes bloodshot from vessels bursting._

_Jester felt her body go lax, unable to wade in the water anymore after expending her energy. She could see from the corner of her eye as Beau and Yasha swam straight for Vokodo’s hoard upon his body, grabbing as much as they could. An arm wrapped itself around her waist, but Jester’s sight refused to leave the place where Caleb once was._

_“Jester. Jester, look at me.” She felt Fjord grab her chin and turn it towards him, his face a grim mask of retrained sorrow and determination. “We gotta get out of here. You have Freedom of Movement prepared, yeah? I need you to cast it on us, okay?” Jester nods numbly, touching Fjord’s shoulder and whispering the spell from muscle memory. Fjord gripped her tighter before swimming back the way they came, Jester allowing herself to go limp in his arms as she was pulled away._

_She lost track of how long the journey back to the waterfall cave took – it felt as if lasted an hour and five minutes at the same time. She barely paid any mind to the Torch Blooms as Fjord pushed past them, her thoughts nothing but a deafening litany._

_CalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgoneCalebwasgone._

_Fjord pulled her out of the water, onto dry land, and Jester immediately curled onto her side. Her throat burned from the strain, her body beaten and bruised. The tears left in the water flowed freely down her cheeks as she sobbed, her wails echoing in the cave around them, the graveyard of ships and Fjord her only witnesses._

_Fjord was silent, for his part. He leaned against a rock, breathing heavily from the exertion of swimming, looking off into the middle distance, staring at nothing. The Star Razor was still gripped in his hand._

_“Can you Revivify?” he whispered. “You or Caduceus? That’s what we’ve done before. You have a diamond, right? That’s all we need, just a diamond—"_

_“Revivify requires a body.” Jester’s voice didn’t sound like her own, rough and emotionless._

_Fjord shook his head, blinking back tears. “There has to be another way, then. Something stronger than Revivify.”_

_“I don’t know that spell yet. I haven’t learned it.” Silent tears fell down her cheeks. There was nothing she could do. Caleb was_ gone _and there was nothing she could do that could bring him back._

_She never felt more helpless in her life._

_“What about the Traveler?” Fjord ran his fingers through his hair. “Is there anything he could do?”_

_The Traveler._

_Jester sniffled, her body heavy as she rolled herself up to a sitting position. She looked over to Fjord and saw the desperation in his eyes as he wracked his brain for every possible solution. The Traveler had promised to keep her safe. Her and the Nein. And he hadn’t. Maybe he could—_

_She stood abruptly, her head dizzy from vertigo._

_“Jester—”_

_She waved Fjord’s helping hand away, collecting her haversack and stepping out towards the waterfall, “Can you Control Water? I need to talk to the Traveler.”_

_Fjord nodded and waved his hand quickly, the waterfall shifting to redirect away from the cave entrance. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked hesitantly, his gaze worried as it tracked her motions._

_She shook her head. “No, I think I need to talk to him by myself. You should wait for the others.” Fjord nodded in answer, and Jester hopped back into the pool of water, swimming out through the cleared entryway and out towards the beach. She trudged through the shallows, her feet heavy as they slipped through silt before the water yielded to the wet, hard sand further inland._

_Tossing her haversack to the ground, Jester rummaged through it until she pulled out her tiny stone statue of the Traveler. She stuck it firmly into the wet sand and kneeled in front of it, wiping her eyes and nose of any lingering tears. Taking a deep breath, Jester closed her eyes and clutched her Symbol of the Traveler firmly, the sharp edges biting into her skin, as she began to pray._

_“Traveler? Artagan? I need your help. Caleb is—” she felt her throat closing up at the reminder. “Caleb is dead. I need you to bring him back to us.”_ To me _, she thinks silently to herself._ I need you to bring him back to me.

_A soft breeze tickled the back of her neck, the bells affixed to her horns jingling lightly in the morning air. She knew he was standing in front of her before she even opened her eyes. A small smile reached her lips as relief filled her lungs. Jester opened her eyes._

_The Traveler was not smiling._

_“Oh, my dear Jester.” He lifted the hood from his head, revealing the mass of ginger hair and bottle green eyes beneath. “I’m so sorry. But I’m limited in what I can do and this… this isn’t within my power today.”_

_The Traveler turned to go, and as he brought his hands up to the hood once more, Jester’s body moved of its own accord to stand and grab the sleeve of his cloak._

_“No!”_

_The Traveler turned back. “No?”_

_“I don’t believe you! Bring him back!”_

_“Jester, Jester, Jester,” he sighed and gave her a sad smile, “You don’t have a say in these kind of things.”_

_“But you promised, you_ promised _that we would be safe!” She grabbed a handful of his cloak, shaking her head as fresh tears began to form._

_“I can’t turn back time, my dear. But we can try again in a week’s time.”_

_“That’s not good enough!” Jester gritted her teeth, her desperation growing hot as it curled into anger. “Bring him back, you bastard!”_

_“Jester—” Cool hands touched her face. Jester flinched back._

_“Don’t fucking touch me—” she quickly dropped his cloak and stepped back, hugging herself and shielding her body from Artagan. She’d been frustrated with her god before, felt alone and scared around him, but she had never felt the burning rage directed towards him before. She watched as Artagen visibly deflated, his eyes shocked as if he had been slapped. A part of Jester preened at the thought._

_“What would you have me do, Jester?”_

_“Bring him back, or I—I’ll never speak with you again,” she whispered. She knew she was acting like a spoiled brat. She knew she was being stubborn and irrational and so, so ungrateful. But this was_ Caleb _. She couldn’t fail him. Not a second time._

_He shook his head and sighed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want this. But I… I need time.”_

_Jester wiped her face and turned her back to Artagan. “Then leave. I don’t want to see your face right now.”_

_She heard another whisper of wind toss the hem of her dress as the sun began to crest the horizon and bathe the cove in its amber glow._

_And once more, Jester was alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context: I'm imagining Jester rolling a 13 on her Divine Intervention which is why she's able to have a full corporeal conversation with Artagan at level 12.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well sorry that our priorities weren’t to your liking,” Beau’s stool grates against the stone floor as she rises to meet Essek, “We were a little preoccupied with our friend who fucking dissolved right in front of us!”_  
>    
> _“You were careless and didn’t think!”_
> 
> _“You wanna trade places? I’ll happily sit on my ass in Rosohna while you go out and fight false gods.”_
> 
> _“This isn’t about me, this is about Caleb—”_
> 
> _“Caleb is DEAD.” Beau’s voice booms, the room falling into silence around her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this would be done in a weekend and only be like three chapters long? 
> 
> Yeah, it kinda got away from me. I think two chapters left? And maybe a second, epilogue follow-up depending on how it ends.
> 
> Also, I changed the rating. Nothing spicy is planned, it just didn't feel like Teen was the right rating when dealing with heavy grief and death and stuff. (Maybe some spicy stuff in the potential follow-up when this is all over. I haven't decided yet.)

The endless night in Rosohna is quiet as the Nein leap out of the tree atop the Xorhaus. Caduceus immediately starts to light the candles around the rooftop garden, and as they flicker to life, there’s a sense of normalcy settling within the space. Leaving the cacophony of the Nicodranas downpour for the warmth of the Xorhaus should be a comfort, but the silence settle into Jester’s bones, and she shivers.

Strange, to see the world continue to turn and go on as if nothing is different. If they didn’t know better, the Nein could simply settle into their respective roles, begin hounding the kitchen after traveling, and start up the hot tub in the basement to relax after the harrowing storm.

But the Nein do know better. And there’s work to be done.

Veth and Jester settle into the library immediately, tearing whatever books they can read from the shelves to scan. There’s only a small fraction written in Common, as the majority seem to be either in Zemnian – which none of them know – or Underdark. Veth skims a tome, one that Jester recognizes from the Dunamancy lesson she observed and tosses it to the ground.

“I can’t read any of this shit!” she groans, dragging Caleb’s old leather chair from the desk and pushing it against the nearest bookshelf so she can reach higher.

“Should we call Essek? He’ll be able to read the Dunamancy books, at least.” Jester kneels down to pick up the discarded book. She flips through the worn pages, smiling sadly to herself when she notices Caleb’s handwriting in the margins – illegible, but they’re something of his. It breaks Jester’s heart that this might be the closest thing she could have to him again. She shakes her head, refusing to dwell on the thought – she’s spent so long mourning, and she has a task at hand.

Veth throws another book to the ground. “Is he even awake? What time is it?”

“I don’t know.” Neither she nor Veth acknowledges what the other is thinking: _Caleb would know._ Instead, Jester moves to the desk, where sheaves of paper remain scattered upon the surface, blotches of ink staining the wood. One particular blotch of ink is in the shape of half a cat paw, and Jester’s heart twinges again as she traces it delicately with her finger.

“Poor Frumpkin,” she whispers to no one, “He doesn’t even know.”

“He might,” Veth joins her at the desk, a number of books stacked in her hands. Her hair is sticking out and ratted from her braids, her eyes tired. “They had a telepathic connection, right? Frumpkin may have felt something when Caleb…” She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.

Jester shuffles some papers off the desk so Veth can place her stack of books on top, turning back to the rest of the room. “I’m going to call Essek. Even if he can’t help us, he’d want to know.” Veth nods in agreement as she opens the first books. Jester waves her hands in a glyph in front of her face, takes a deep breath, and casts _Sending_.

“ _Essek. We need your help. Please come to the Xorhaus immediately. It’s_ —”

Breathe. Just say it.

“ _It’s Caleb. He’s dead. Caleb’s dead and we need help bringing him back.”_ Her shoulders sag as she releases the spell. From the desk, she can hear Veth sniffling, trying to keep her composure as the finality of Jester’s message sinks in.

Caleb is _dead_.

She hadn’t let herself think about the reality they now lived in since her first talk with the Traveler. Then, it was like when Fjord was stabbed on the deck of the Balleater, or when Caduceus was blown up by Veth’s explosive arrow. Yes, they were dead, but she and Caduceus were able to fix it. When she had pleaded with the Traveler, she thought Caleb might still be in reach. After all, what use was a god if he couldn’t perform miracles?

But as the days of silence and numb mourning stretched on, the truth of the matter hung thick to her bones. The miracle hadn’t worked. And Caleb was still dead.

Jester waits for an answer from Essek, a confirmation. Perhaps some condolence. But there’s only silence on the other end of the Sending spell.

“Well?” Veth’s eyes dart from the books on the desk to Jester. “What did he say?”

_Nothing._

Static fills the air in the library, the smell of ozone heavy and thick. Jester whips around, hand reaching for the axe at her side as arcane glyphs seem to seep through the floor, illuminated in a brilliant white light.

And then, Essek is there, standing before Jester and Veth. His mantle is gone, and his feet don’t leave the floor. His eyes are stern, but there’s a wildness behind them. He looks to Jester.

“Where’s the body?”

\---  
  


Essek stares into his cup of tea as the Nein surround him after recounting their fight against Vokodo.

He hasn’t moved. It’s freaking Jester out.

“And then we called you, because you know time shit,” Veth concludes, crossing her arms and casting him with a look of judgment. It’s clear she hasn’t forgiven him for his treason. Jester wonders if Essek can tell.

The drow clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “And how long ago did this happen?”

“Five days ago,” Beau replies. Essek pinches the bridge of his nose and _oh._ He’s _mad._

“Damn it all. You should have Sent for me right away.”

“What good would that have done?”

“More than you did, _Beauregard!”_ Essek snaps, getting to his feet and pacing the kitchen. “My expertise is time, yes, but my powers have a limit to how long I can use them before they are inert. If you had _summoned me when it happened_ , I might have been able to reverse it. I may have been able to change the timeline, _fix_ all this.”

Ice fills Jester’s lungs, her heart sinking into her stomach. She didn’t know… she didn’t think—

“Well _sorry_ that our priorities weren’t to your liking,” Beau’s stool grates against the stone floor as she rises to meet Essek, “We were a little preoccupied with our friend who fucking _dissolved right in front of us_!”

“You were careless and didn’t think!”

“You wanna trade places? I’ll happily sit on my ass in Rosohna while you go out and fight false gods.”

“This isn’t about me, this is about Caleb—”

“Caleb is DEAD.” Beau’s voice booms, the room falling into silence around her. She stares Essek down, whose careful veneer has cracked even further from the last time they saw him on the Balleater, his perfectly coifed hair in disarray, his lips thin. Beau’s chest heaves, and this time, her voice is quiet but steady. “What happened happened, and it’s too late to change the past. So either _help us_ fix it now, or fuck off.”

Essek looks from Beau to Veth, to the rest of the Nein. He sighs. “What do you need from me?”

“Neither Jester nor I have learned True Resurrection,” Caduceus tops off Essek’s teacup.

“Nor have I. And the clerics here are… well, let’s just say when you live in a city that believes in the Luxon as deeply as the denizens of Rosohna do, there’s little interest in any spells to revive the dead.”

“So it’s still up to us, then.”

“It would seem so. Do you have the material components required for a True Resurrection?” Essek steeples his fingers in front of his face and looks between the two clerics. Jester stays silent.

Caduceus shakes his head. “We need a diamond. A big one. And that still doesn’t solve our problem of learning the spell.”

Essek’s gaze flickers over to Jester, and she can’t help but curl into herself, try to make herself smaller. _Don’t look at me,_ she prays, _Don’t look at me._ “You were able to reach out to your god, yes? It sounds like you might be able to draw enough power from him in order to perform the ritual.”

 _If he’ll still talk to me._

The drow taps on the table in thought, then begins his pacing once more, this time less frantic and more contemplative. “I can get you a diamond. I’ll see if any of my own research may assist you in the ritual – Until then, is there anything of Caleb’s you may have? Something that could help guide his soul back to the Material Plane?”

Veth steps forward. “He umm…. When he… you know. I read in one of his books that it doesn’t Disintegrate magical items, so this was left behind.” She pulls a heavy leather-bound book from her pack, and Jester immediately recognizes it as Caleb’s spellbook. Essek’s eyes light up in interest.

“I can keep it safe, if you’d like.”

“No,” Veth clutches the book to her chest, curling around it as if to absorb it into her very being. “I’d like to hold on to it. Even if… even if we can’t bring him back, it’s the only thing that feels truly _his_ , you know? And I’d like to keep him close.” Her voice is choked up, the possibility of losing Caleb forever bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

Essek sighs, but nods all the same. “Very well. I will return with a diamond for the ritual. When can you speak with your gods again?” He turns to the clerics. Caduceus looks to Jester and slides a cup of tea her way.

“I tried the Wildmother yesterday, so I’m tapped for another week. Jester can try in two days, right?” Jester can only nod mutely.

“Then it is settled. I’ll return then.” And with that, Essek turns back towards the foyer. As the Nein settle in the kitchen, no one feeling up to being gracious hosts to see him out, Jester steels herself and follows Essek out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, just as Essek reaches for the door. He turns back to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s my fault. I should’ve sent a message right away. I wasn’t thinking—if I kept my head, I would’ve remembered—”

There’s a cool hand on her shoulder, and Jester looks up into Essek’s face, a sad smile upon his lips. Idly, Jester thinks that this might be the first time Essek has offered physical affection in any form on his own.

Funny, what grief can do to people.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Jester. I’m sorry I got so worked up back there. You did everything you could.”

She wrings her hands. She knows, she _knows_ that Essek is right, that her first instinct to revive Caleb was the most sensible at the time. But she can’t help think of every other possibility. She should’ve stepped in before he cast the spell, she should’ve redirected Vokodo’s ire to _her_ , she should’ve done _anything_ than float there and watch.

Essek is still watching her, deep despair in his eyes. It reminds Jester of the image she saw in her mirror over the past few days. She swallows the lump in her throat, her voice small.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She expects the hand to retract, expects Essek’s eyes to widen or a blush to rise on his dark skin, but instead, Essek’s hand simply squeezes on her shoulder in comfort.

“I’m not the only one, it seems.”

He barely speaks above a whisper, but it echoes in Jester’s brain like a sermon in a cathedral. It tears through her veins like poison, hot and cold at the same time, lighting her nerves on fire. It settles deep in her stomach, like tree roots breaking through cobblestones to overtake the earth in their defiance. The world tilts on its access, and Jester is

falling

falling

falling.

It’s one thing to keep longing silent.

It’s another thing entirely when words are put to it.

Essek watches Jester freeze and smiles again, the mirth never truly reaching his eyes. “I’ll see you soon, Jester.” And with that, he turns to leave.

\---  
  


The next two days are an agonizing test in patience.

Beau spends most of her time in Yasha’s room, getting drunk off family wine and listening to the mournful sounds of the Bone Harp.

Caduceus guides the Nein in daily meditation – once in the morning and once after lunch, and Fjord finds himself spending time in the rooftop garden, pruning flowers and harvesting teas with Caduceus to keep their hands and minds occupied. They only come inside to eat and go to bed.

Veth locks herself in the library, furiously reading whatever books she can, digging through the excess spell components in the desk to see if there’s anything she’s missing, anything she’s overlooked. There’s not – she knows it deep in her soul that she’s only pacing a hole into the floor, knows that there’s no secret to find in the tomes of transmutation magic that litter the room, but she continues to search all the same.

Jester paints.

She paints Molly’s coat, all red and purple and gold, beads twinkling in the moonlight as he shuffles his deck of tarot cards.

She paints the Nicodranas shoreline at sunset, the warm golden hues reflecting over the deep cerulean blue of the ocean, seafoam crashing upon the cliffs where the Wildmother stands proudly.

She paints Frumpkin – as a cat curled next to a halfling woman, both fast asleep. As an octopus, swimming through green glass water. As an owl, as a sparrow, as a spider, spinning a gossamer web, dewdrops clinging to the silk threads in the morning hours.

She paints Caleb.

She paints his old coat – the one covered in dirt and patches, the sleeves ragged and frayed at the cuffs. She paints him with sleeves rolled up, book holsters at his side and surrounded by fire. She paints him with dirt on his face, the way he stormed off the day they fought over fifty gold. She paints him with his beard shaven, with flowers braided into his hair, with the small smile on his face that he reserves just for her. His eyes. His unyielding blue eyes, so bright they almost glow. She paints those last. And then she paints them over and over again.

She can’t get his eyes right. She doesn’t have the right shade of blue.

And then the week ends.

Essek arrives promptly, and when Jester enters the foyer as the bells chime throughout the Xorhaus, Essek approaches her immediately, a pearl in hand. He places it upon her forehead and mutters an incantation, the familiar rush of Fortune’s Favor electrifying her veins. He nods to her and turns to the rest of the Nein.

“Well, where to?”

The group settles on the rooftop to perform the ritual – Caduceus and Fjord had already set out candles as soon as they finished breakfast. Lights flicker like stars in the canopy of the tree, and a warm breeze blows through the leaves as the Nein gathers together.

Yasha shakes out her shrug and lays it on the stone rooftop for Jester to kneel upon, neither of them knowing how long the Resurrection may take. Veth takes out Caleb’s spellbook and places it gently on top of the shrug, her hand lingering over the leather cover for a moment longer.

The Nein and Essek turn their eyes to Jester. Watching her expectantly.

“Okay,” Jester breathes deeply, and kneels before the book. “Okay, okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

Essek pulls a sack from his pocket dimension and hands it to Jester. “Twenty-five thousand gold worth of diamonds.”

From behind him, Fjord chokes in disbelief at the sum.

It’s worth it.

Jester opens the pouch and scatters the diamonds on top of the spellbook. She rests her hand over them and clutches her symbol of the Traveler in her fist. She looks over to her friends, all huddled together and holding each other close. She catches Veth’s eye – the halfling anchored to the floor by Caduceus’s firm grip on her shoulder. Her eyes are shining in the persistent moonlight. She nods, determined.

Jester lets out another deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Traveler?” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat to steady herself. “Traveler. We’re all here, and we got a lot of diamonds. Like, so many diamonds. And we waited a week, just like you said. So please? Can you please help us bring Caleb back?”

Silence. Nobody breathes.

Fear claws at Jester’s heart – what if the Traveler doesn’t listen? What if he’s _mad_ at her? She hasn’t spoken to him since her first attempt at Divine Intervention, and she _yelled_ at him then. The Traveler wouldn’t hold a grudge against his most loyal believer, would he? Would he?

She squeezes her symbol harder, and she swears she can feel blood dotting in her fist. The silence lingers longer and longer, and the diamonds don’t disappear, don’t shatter.

She’s failed. She’s failed him again.

Hot tears land among the diamonds, absorbing into the leather of the spellbook. Jester can feel her throat convulsing as she tries to keep her wracking sobs at bay.

“ _Please_ , Traveler. You have to bring him back. We all miss him so much. We love him.” She sniffles, “ _I love him_. And I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. But this hurts me. It hurts so much, Traveler, not having Caleb by my side. So please, _please_ , help us get our stinky wizard back.”

A quiet breeze ruffles through her hair, the bells on her horns jingling in the quiet. Jester blinks her eyes open.

The diamonds shimmer gold and amber, as if catching warm candlelight from every direction. They glitter and shiver, and slowly, like sands of time through an hourglass, they disintegrate before her, until all that’s left is Caleb’s worn leather spellbook.

Her heart pounds fiercely in her chest as Jester allows herself to hope, looking up to the rest of her friends. Tear tracks stain every one of their faces and they continue to clutch onto one another, none making a move to interrupt the ritual.

The breeze grows stronger, and Jester has to pull her hair away from her face to focus around her. As she does, she looks to the tree – the tree planted with love by Caduceus, as the trunk seems to warp and shimmer. Bright glyphs glow a golden white around the trunk of the tree, arcing up and over to create a doorway, pointed at the top. The glyphs scatter and merge, until they disappear into one another entirely, the doorway solidifying and glowing brightly.

Jester scrambles to her feet as a figure steps from the doorway, tall and shrouded in green. The fey ears poking sharply from the mass of ginger curls is a balm to her soul, his green eyes glittering with mirth. He reaches his hand out, and Jester eagerly takes it, letting him lead her towards the open gateway.

Artagan grins, mischievous and proud.

“Well now, let’s see what we can do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He walks for seconds, for an eternity. He is a young boy and an old man as one, time passing through him and warping around him. And still, the white light stretches onward._
> 
> _He stops after what seems like hours, decades, centuries, having gone no further than where he started. Perhaps he’s thinking about this all wrong. Perhaps he shouldn’t apply logic to this plane. After all, time and space are meaningless. So why try to play by rules that don’t exist?_
> 
> _Perhaps this is a trick. Or a puzzle._
> 
> _He closes his eyes. His eyes stay wide open._
> 
> _It is a strange thing, to exist and not all at once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get some weird Caleb POV up in here.

_Caleb…_

He opens his eyes to nothing.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

He’s not sure he even has eyelids anymore, his eyes both blinking and unseeing at the same time.

He’s surrounded by everything and nothing.

He tries to move first – tries to lift his arms, lift his legs, turn his head. But as he blinks at nothing, stares at everything, he can’t feel the weight of his arms or the rest of his body. It brings memories of floating on the surface of an ocean, warm sunlight cast on his face.

Where was that ocean? Did the sun even exist anymore?

He remembers the color white, and realizes that yes, this is what surrounds him. It should be blinding, should cause him to squint in pain to stare at such bright light in all directions, but he finds that staring into the void of empty space around him feels natural, like second nature.

He might even say it was as easy as breathing, but. Well…

He tries to count time second – something in the back of his mind tells him that he was good at it. And so he starts to count the seconds as they pass. _Eins… zwei… drei… vier…_

He gets up to _fünf_ before he has to stop. Like dust cast out into the wind, the numbers are gone, and he forgets what he was counting for in the first place. Time doesn’t seem to matter here, and why was he concerned with the passage of time to begin with?

He looks down to his arms, to his feet, and is surprised to find them there, his naked body shrouded in gossamer light.

Good. He still has a body.

He examines his hands and finds his fingertips are clean, his arms unmarred, and that’s not right, is it? He feels like there should be something there, something on his arms. It’s strange, knowing something is not quite right, but not remembering what. Or whether he should actually care.

_Hallo?_ He calls out, his own voice echoing in his head, but his lips don’t move, his throat producing no sound. He waits for an answer from the void before him. There is none.

Well. There must be somewhere for him to go. He looks down at his feet, the feet he still can’t feel, and watches them carefully as he lifts them and forces them to walk forward. First the right. Then the left – just like he was taught. He smiles to himself. He thinks he was good at learning.

The bright white void stretches on in every direction, no floor or ceiling for him to navigate, but he chooses a direction and begins to walk. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what he might find at his destination. But there must be a destination. After all, if he continues to simply move forward, logic dictates that he should end up somewhere. Right?

_Right._

He stops and spins on his heel, the voice echoing in the back of his head. It’s ethereal and vaguely feminine, which strikes him as odd – a place such as thigs seems like it would not have need for sex or gender.

_Hallo?_ he calls again, not bothering to speak with his own voice. _Is someone there?_

There’s no answer. He finds his hands reaching for something at his sides, moving as if on instinct, but when he looks down, he remains as naked as he was when he woke. He has nothing with him. He _is_ nothing.

He walks.

He walks for seconds, for an eternity. He is a young boy and an old man as one, time passing through him and warping around him. And still, the white light stretches onward.

He stops after what seems like hours, decades, centuries, having gone no further than where he started. Perhaps he’s thinking about this all wrong. Perhaps he shouldn’t apply logic to this plane. After all, time and space are meaningless. So why try to play by rules that don’t exist?

Perhaps this is a trick. Or a puzzle.

He closes his eyes. His eyes stay wide open.

It is a strange thing, to exist and not all at once.

He focuses on the woman’s voice from a millennia ago. She did not sound motherly, nor particularly youthful. She sounded much like the way he felt – all of time slipping through her voice. He feels like he must get to her. He needs to reach out to her. He needs to follow her.

He opens his eyes to darkness.

His body feels heavy, and gods, he forgot what a relief it is to _feel_ something as mundane as the weight of his own limbs. Looking down upon his body, he finds himself still nude, his shroud of light exchanged for one of shadow.

Before him, the darkness coalesces, undulating like the current of a slow-moving river, and as he stares into the inky black, he realizes that it’s not empty void. It’s fabric. Time and space and all of eternity swirling in a dreamscape of the blackest black around him.

And there, cloaked in the universe, stands a woman, a porcelain mask covering her face, the eyes the same color of the world, the lips painted the red of blood. And without asking, without question, he _knows_ her.

_Raven Queen._

The woman tilts her head to the side as if she were a doll, the mask unyielding as she considers him.

_Bren Aldric Ermendrud._

_Or would you prefer Caleb Widogast?  
_ _It is the name you died with, after all._

He died? He doesn’t feel the pain or fear he thinks he should, the fact settling in his being as if it was always true. Yes. Of course he died. Why else would he be here?

The Raven Queen waits patiently for his answer.

_Caleb. I think._ he says. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t _feel_ like a Caleb. But something about that name feels familiar, feels comforting. He thinks he might have heard it before, when he first woke up. A woman’s voice, her accent lilting as she spoke the word.

_Caleb…._

He thinks he can hear it again, even now, but he brushes it off to turn back to the Goddess of Death. Her voice is cold, yet he feels no fear.

_You were not a man of faith in life, and so your death has fallen under my domain.  
Fear not, child.  
I am not the reaper so many fear on the material plane._

Caleb shakes his head. _I do not fear you._

He can feel her smile, though he cannot see it under the porcelain mask.

_You are an interesting one, Caleb Widogast.  
_ _Greedy of knowledge, much like I was before my ascension.  
_ _Fascinated by time and the ways one could undo it.  
_ _I suppose I should be thanking you, for Disintegrating yourself before I needed to intervene in your exploits._

_You must know, there was no happiness for you down that path._

A wave of deep despair crashes over Caleb as a flood of memories threaten to choke him – a woman with red hair, the same color as his – a man with haunting blue eyes, kissing the woman on the cheek. A looming tower, a sprawling campus. Kisses behind bookshelves and fumbling of tunics. Shards of gems cutting, stabbing, ground deep into his veins.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

_Caleb….._

Caleb gasps, but no sound comes out. He looks to the mask before him, his arms burning before numbness soothes them. The mask doesn’t change.

_Yes.  
_ _You are very interesting.  
_ _And not just to me.  
_ _The Archeart has spoken on your behalf.  
_ _They wish to claim you and take you to their domain, if you so choose.  
_ _But the choice is yours, Caleb Widogast.  
_ _I cannot make it for you._

He looks down at his arms and rubs them, though they remain unblemished. He thinks of the fire, of the screams.

_What about my Mutter and Vater?_ he asks.

A breeze sweeps over his face, the Raven Queen’s sigh shifting through his very bones.

_They are with the Dawnfather.  
_ _They are safe and loved.  
_ _The Archeart has claimed you.  
_ _The Dawnfather has not.  
_ _I am sorry.  
_ _There is only so much I can offer you._

She curls her hand out towards him.

He nods. It makes sense. He’s lucky that a god would take such an interest in someone like him, someone who led such a shameful life. He doesn’t know what the Archeart’s domain might offer him, but he hopes it might bring him peace. He’s so tired, after all.

Maybe he’ll be able to find his cat again.

Caleb steels himself. Let’s his hand move of its own accord, reaching out towards the Raven Queen.

And yet.

And yet.

_Caleb!_

Caleb stops, hand still outstretched. He hears the voice in the back of his head, the same melodic accent he heard before. Someone is calling to him. That’s not right.

And yet.

He turns towards the sound, and freezes.

Blue. Endless blue.

He blinks, and he’s back in darkness. He blinks again, and he’s back in the endless void of light. And standing there, haloed in golden hues, is a woman in endless blue, staring back at him with wide eyes.

She smiles, and the world falls away.

Before he can make a move, Jester crashes into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso. The contact is almost too much to bear, on the verge of searing his very skin off, but he cannot bring himself to care because Jester is here, Jester is _here…._

_Wait._ he pulls her away and stares down at her watery eyes. _How are you here? Jester, I’m… I’m dead. You shouldn’t_ be _here._

She shakes her head and grasps his hand in hers. _It’s okay, Cayleb. I asked the Traveler to help me find you, and he brought me here! Everyone’s waiting for you back at the Xorhaus. They’ll be so happy to see you!_

He blinks at her, his mind desperately trying to catch up. The others. The Mighty Nein. His family. They sent Jester here to bring him back? _But why?_

_Why?_ Jester cocks her head, and Caleb realizes too late that he gave his thoughts voice. _Because we miss you and we love you, silly goose._

The tears are falling before he can stop them, overwhelmed and smothered by a thousand different emotions wracking through his body at once. Grief, fear, relief, comfort, happiness, confusion, love, love, love, love.

Jester grins up at him and wipes the tears away, her hand trailing down his neck and to his bare chest. She takes a minute step back and looks down, breaking out into giggles. He follows her gaze and flushes as he notices that yes, Jester too is draped in nothing but light.

_Cayyyleb, ohmigosh. We’re_ naked _. Is this your doing, Traveler?_ She calls behind her, where Caleb can now see the tall silhouette of a familiar Fey entity standing by a doorway of light. Artagan smiles.

_It seems I’m not the only one who enjoys a bit of a show, am I?_ He looks directly behind Caleb and Jester, and they turn to see the shrouded form of the Raven Queen still standing, waiting. She casts her masked gaze upon Jester.

_You’re a clever one, aren’t you?_

Jester flushes and laces her fingers with Caleb’s, squeezing tightly. _And you’re like, super duper pretty. But I would really like to take Caleb with me now, if that’s okay with you?_

The mask shifts ever so slightly to consider Caleb. She looks at him for a long moment.

_I suppose you still have work you must do.  
_ _If you choose, of course._

From Caleb, she looks to Artagan, and though she says nothing, Caleb can sense her annoyance focused on the Fey. He wiggles his fingers at her in response.

There’s a tug on Caleb’s hand, and he turns once more to Jester. _Hey,_ she says, her smile growing shy, _are you ready?_

_Jester I—_ he pauses, not knowing how to say what he needs to without upsetting her. _I don’t know. I deserve to be_ here. _There are so many others that deserve a second chance. But not me._

Jester cradles his head in her hands, her palms cool against his skin. He leans into the touch, yearning for more and knowing he cannot allow himself the pleasure. Jester’s eyes are glassy. _I know you can’t see all the good you do, the happiness you bring to all of us. But we were miserable without you. And we want you back. I think we’re allowed a little bit of selfishness from time to time, right? So let me be selfish, Caleb Widogast. Come home with me._

And she pulls his head down to slot her lips against his.

Caleb feels the fire in his gut, a well-worn flicker, burst into an inferno, lighting up the blood in his veins. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he realizes for the first time since his death that he can _hear_ his own heartbeat. Jester’s lips are cool and smooth, corporeal and gossamer at the same time, and the void gathers around them like a warm embrace. He only has a second to restart his brain before she pulling away again, the same smile planted on her face. He feels his face heat up, and a smile cracks upon his own lips in return.

_Ja. Okay. Let’s go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just wanted to try some new stuff with prose. Figured the afterlife was the best place to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, what if Vokodo reflected Disintegrate back at Caleb while both our clerics are too low-level and poor to learn True Resurrection? =D


End file.
